In One and Out The Other
by Pleading Eyes
Summary: Phoenix and Thalassa try to make their unorthodox family situation work. But they both carry the burden of their pasts, of broken lives. Is any sort of contentment still an option for either of them?
1. Ease In

**In and Out**

* * *

**Part 1: Ease In**

His hands rove her body. They're Damon's hands. Old, veiny, sometimes gloved, touching her innocent teenage body everywhere. She wants to get up. He won't let her. He keeps skating over her abdomen, squeezing her breasts, snaking under her skirt and teasing her private area through her panties. She wants to cry out for help, but who would listen to her anyway? Damon _is_ the one who listens to her.

He shoves into her and suddenly it's Zak. Normally joking, charismatic Zak, flying into one of his rages. He shoves into her hard, his hand cracks against her cheek, no regard as to whether or not she's ready. And she's not. It hurts, but it always does. It's supposed to hurt, isn't it? She tries not to cry. It'll only anger him further. She bites her lip, but he's so rough, and she's so sore, she can't...

"Ah-!"

"Hmm?" He stops, brushing a hand over her face gently, so very gently, shushing her. "Shh, hey. Heeey, it's okay. Shh. I'm sorry, did I go in too soon?"

She blinks. That isn't Zak's voice; harsh, crass, and grating. It isn't even Damon's; authoritative, sophisticated, overly jovial. She's afraid to look, afraid of what she'll find there, but she knows she has to. A magician has to be aware of their surroundings.

His dark blue eyes, hooded but filled with concern, look back at her.

"Phoenix..." she whispers his name reverently, tightening her grip around his neck, clinging.

"Yeah, it's me." He smiles that lopsided smile of his, dipping down to press his lips lightly to her forehead. "Good to have you joining me. Are you okay?"

His voice is gentle, calm and assuring, but she can hear the worry in his voice, her Gramarye eyes catch the slightest quiver when he swallows.

"Do you want me to stop?"

It happens sometimes. He's usually very good at reading when she's ready. It's a challenge though. Her body's arousal rarely coincides with her mind's. Her traitorous body which heats and lubricates itself, giving him every sign that she's prepared, while her memories spin shadows and horror stories, terrifying her of any contact at all. He's usually very good at waiting until the cobwebs have been cleared, holding and reassuring her, before he enters. But sometimes even he gets carried away. Instinct takes over. It's not his fault; he'd been at it for at least a couple hours already. Can she blame him for wanting to join with her already?

"I'm sorry..." she looks away, expression blank. She is so good at masking all feeling. All part of the act.

"There's nothing to be sorry for." He lifts a hand to her cheek and she flinches, anticipating the slap. Instead his hand caresses her face, cupping her chin and gently encouraging her to face him. "Except maybe for trying to do more than you can. I've told you time and again, if it hurts, just tell me so. It's okay, I'll stop."

She nods apologetically, feeling like a scolded child, trying to ignore the part of her that's suspicious of him. He's not trying to manipulate her, trick her into giving him more. He's not Damon. He's not going to fly into a rage and hit her if she tells him no. He's not Zak. He means what he says.

"I just... you do so much for me. You shouldn't have to cope with a sickness that isn't yours." She says plainly, conversationally. She never was one to be over dramatic. So the opposite of him, he lies over her and hugs her tight.

"A sickness? Lassa, you're no sickness. Alcoholism is a sickness. You know, that nasty habit you've been helping me break out of?" He nuzzles her neck, and it's such a tender gesture that it makes her heart ache with how foreign and sweet it is.

"Two months and counting."

"Yeah, ain't that somethin'? And all I needed was a hot babysitter. Who knew?" He's back to his slang and purposely incorrect speech. It's endearing, really. Somehow he makes it so. "Look, it's not a big deal. Before this, I hadn't gotten any since _college_. I think a bit of a challenge is worth the prize, amirite?"

He's teasing, trying to make light of the situation. Somehow, he does manage to pull up at the corners of her mouth, just a bit.

"Don't be crude." There's a smile in her voice, even as she chastises him. This is nice, this easy banter, equals, no need to be afraid of upsetting him.

He looks up to peck her lips and then begins moving back, pulling out.

She gasps at the sensation of movement inside of her. She doesn't know why it hurts, it's not like she unprepared. She's had two children, it's not like her body isn't accustomed. The things the mind can do...

For a moment she lies there, staring at the ceiling, feeling empty and used, carved out. But then he gathers her in his arms, bringing her head to rest on his chest as he half-sits with his back against the headboard, and reaches for the remote on the night stand. The television flickers on, volume so low they can't decipher a single word, but neither of them is really watching. It's just the comfort of the distraction.

She rests a hand on his chest, the other one lying protectively over her stomach. He slings an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him, supporting her, as his free hand disappears under the covers. He's probably relieving himself a bit. Poor man... it must be so uncomfortable. This happens far too often.

It's terribly unfair, she thinks. That the men who used her with no care towards her feelings and discarded her when they were finished got everything they wanted. While this man, her Phoenix, the one who concerns himself with her well-being and that of her children first and foremost, must endure this.

"I'm sorry I can't give you more."

"Lassa, you're killin' my mood." He chuckles, brushing his lips over the top of her head. "Here I got this gorgeous chick in bed, and she keeps acting like it's a tragedy. Seriously, you're gonna deflate my ego."

How does he always manage to make her smile? "What ego?" She reaches up to trail his jaw. Not because she feels she must, but she wants to. She never was one for sexual contact, not after what was done to her, but with him she just has these moments of bursting affection she can't restrain.

He groans softly, his eyes sliding shut. He's so easy.

"Tomorrow, I promise." She murmurs against his neck.

He grunts something in the affirmative, eyes still shut, lost in the sensation of her lips against his skin. For all his biting sarcasm and cryptic remarks, he really is little more than a lovesick puppy inside. A fact she's certain her daughter is aware of, but Apollo may be a little slow on the uptake. Machi's still accustoming to this new family dynamic, but he seems to be the one resisting Phoenix the most right now.

Thalassa isn't worried. Phoenix is good to them, even in his own unorthodox way, and she's certain they'll all ease into the semblance of a family. At least he and the children will.

She's not sure where she fits into all this. They aren't anything official, not really. She has her own apartment, though she's spending more and more of her nights here with him instead. They're not exclusive, at least they claim they're not tied down and free to go as they please. And yet she can't go to another. It hurts. He's the only one she truly trusts, the only one she even wants to trust. And he...

He's the single minded type. One-track mind in all he does, the tireless pursuit. There can only be one woman in his life at a time, and it makes her feel awful to know that she's filling that spot. He deserves more than this. She's tried to match him up with other women, but he's terribly prone to self-sabotage.

"Here..." She shifts, her hand sliding down to find his manhood, shooing his hand aside before curling around his shaft.

He jumps. That got his attention. "You don't have to-"

"I know. But may I?" She looks up at him, facing him seriously. She was manipulated and forced to do this in her youth. She knows the difference. She _wants_ to do it now, for him.

He blinks, confused, brow furrowing in uncertainty. He's warring with himself, she knows.

"Thalassa..." Her full name. He means business.

"Honestly, Mr. Wright." She scoffs; she can play this game too. She gives his shaft a squeeze, delighting in the squeak that escapes him. "I wouldn't offer if I wasn't alright."

He shuts his eyes again, trying to keep his breathing under control long enough to give his approval.

She strokes, flicks, squeezes, teases his head. An illusionists' hands, her dexterity is unmatched. He comes apart in moments with a choked groan.

"Wow..." He pants, wetting his lips and trying to form a sentence between gulps of air, "Want... me to... return... the favor?"

She shakes her head. It's not that she wouldn't love his attentions; the wound is just too fresh in her mind right now. But he understands and pulls her closer; embracing her but keeping his grip loose so she can escape should she feel the need to.

He's already drifting off, eyes drooping as hard as he tries to keep them open. He's such a boy inside. She's amazed at how he's managed to maintain that spark of naivety and goodness despite all that life has done to him. She isn't like him. She can't recognize her seventeen year old self in the slightest.

She kisses his temple, picking up the remote to shut off the television and setting it aside. He's half asleep, so she carefully maneuvers him down into a lying position. He mutters unintelligibly, wrapping his arms around her waist and drowsily finding a spot on her chest to kiss with sleep-clumsy lips.

He's lonely. She doesn't know the details, but she's been able to gather quite a bit from being around him and piecing together rumors she's heard. That fateful trial lost him more than just his badge. She wonders were all his friends are now, where did they go and why did they leave? Was hasn't a single one of them come to congratulate him on getting his name cleared?

She senses it's something more complicated than that. Something dark, even. But it isn't her place to pry. He'll tell her if he wants to. In the meantime, at the very least, she can offer him a reprieve from that loneliness. It's all she can do for him.

* * *

In the morning she wakes to the sound of discordant piano keys and muffled arguing. She dresses quickly and hurries out to find the source. Machi's berating Phoenix for his poor piano playing, complaining in a heavy Borginian accent how it hurts his poor prodigy ears.

Phoenix just laughs, shrugging.

Machi won't have it and forces himself on the bench beside Phoenix, correcting his hand placement with vehemence.

Thalassa smiles to herself. He may act frustrated, but Machi has always been the sort to keep more to himself. If he's putting in the effort to try and teach a hopeless cause like Phoenix, then he really does care. It seems those two have already come further than she thought.

Her theory is confirmed when Phoenix ruffles the annoyed blond boy's head. Machi snaps at him for messing up his hair, but it's more a protest out of principle. He actually looks pleased at the paternal affection.

There's a crash from the office, and Apollo's unique scratchy voice whining about Mr. Hat's clumsiness. Trucy's giggles follow, and then she bolts into the room, Apollo chasing close after in annoyance. But he can't stay mad at his sister, especially since Phoenix fixes him with a warning look.

She doubts any of them have even noticed her lingering in the doorway. She makes her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, feeling useless. She's the only one who doesn't fit in here. The only one who's too broken, more of a detriment than an addition. She's not needed.

As she stares down at the skillet, trying to remember if it's Trucy or Machi who likes their eggs over-easy, she feels his arms ease around her waist. She knows it's him. She's memorized the feel of him.

"Hey, there's a fine lookin' lady in my kitchen. I must've been extra good this year." He rests his head on her shoulder, sighing contentedly.

"Or at least you have friends in high places."

"You make me sound so corrupt."

There it is again, that easy banter. How does he make her feel in place, on her feet? She's not one to gush or fuss over things, but he does fill her with a deep sense of self-satisfaction. She wishes she knew how to express it.

She supposes, in the meantime, a delicious breakfast will have to do. "Let me guess. Grilled chicken omelet for you?"

He squeezes her waist. That must have been the right answer. He has such simple tastes.

"Hey..." he says in a softer voice, so the kids won't hear as they set up the table in the next room."Do you want me to return the favor? I'm not asking for anything, I'm all good. I just want to make you feel good."

As usual, one-track mind. When he gets an idea in his head...

"Later, Phoenix." She moves out of his arms to serve Apollo's eggs onto a plate. "And I'm fine today. We can do more than just that."

He nods, watching her through those hooded royal blue eyes of his. "Just tell me if it's not okay."

"It will be." She retakes her position in front of the stove, but he stays back this time, just watching. "As long as you ease in slowly, I should be fine."

"Yeah..." he says, more to himself really, and there's a weight to his words she can't quite decipher. "I just have to go slow with you."

He turns and goes to join the children before she can ask him what he means. Thalassa quirks a brow. He's an odd man, to be sure. Self-sacrificing to a fault. He's different than any man she's ever known in every way imaginable, to the point of absurdity.

Though when she thinks about it, she wonders if that's the appeal.


	2. Smoothed Out

**In and Out**

* * *

**Part 2: Smoothed Out  
**

She's getting married.

After all this time, all that's happened, he doesn't know why this shakes him so much. But he can't help but stare at the old picture he's dug up, of him and her, from so long ago. He looks idiotic, with that stupid sappy grin on his face. But she, as always, is beautiful. Her hair is red here, of course, she's impersonating her sister. But he tries not to think about that. He'd rather dwell on the better memories.

The ones he'll never have again. She's gone, and even though she hasn't been his for years, the finality of this all is still so difficult for him to grasp. She's getting married.

Perhaps it's just that all his friends are settling down. Gumshoe and Maggey were no surprise. Larry and Franziska were so bizarre it just had to happen, it figured she'd finally set him straight and he'd loosen her up. He hadn't heard from Maya in years, though Pearls had informed him that she supposedly had a secret boyfriend in Europe. Pearls' judgement was a little skewed when it came to these things, however, so for all he knew Maya had just made friends out there. Still, the part of him that knew Edgeworth was in Europe nagged at him, as impossible as he knew it was for him and Maya-of all people-to have something.

It was impossible, right? Just because Maya was off trying to make something of herself and Europe was Edgeworth's go-to runaway spot didn't mean... Europe was a big continent!

Phoenix sighs, running a hand over his face, telling himself to stop being ridiculous even as he makes a mental note to try and contact Edgeworth. He knows he won't really do it, of course. He's always telling himself to get in contact with his old friends, but he never does. Is he lazy or scared?

He's off-topic. The point is, Iris is getting married.

Is she happy?

She seems happy in the picture that came with the invitation.

Why had she even invited him anyway? Hadn't they burned their bridges when he became an alcoholic poker playing pianist hobo and decided it'd be a good idea to get drunk and to be a first-rate dick to her? Oh yeah, that was a hell of a way to ask a girl to give you a chance.

Phoenix looks between the old photograph and the current one of Iris next to her fiance. He wants to think that the guy isnt't so great, but he's actually pretty handsome and looks genuinely nice. Clean cut too.

Well, fu-

"Phoenix?"

He jumps at the sound of her voice. It's funny, even when Thalassa catches him _thinking_ about a curse, he feels sheepish. He really had picked up a few nasty habits over the years.

"Hey." He's surprised to see her standing right in front of him. He hadn't noticed her come in at all, and it seems to concern her if the look on her face is any indication.

"Good morning." She smiles at him in that slight barely-smiling way of hers, and sits beside him on the bed. "Thinking of someone?"

"Huh?" He realizes that he's holding pictures of Iris in plain view, and that he's never told anyone in his household who she is. He keeps the past to himself, mostly. Easier to forget it that way. "Oh, yeah. An old friend of mine. She's getting married."

His chest tightens at the thought. She really is. Is he upset because she's getting married, or because he's the only one of his friends who has nothing to show for all these years? No career, no relationship, hell, no friends. Maybe it's a combination of the two.

"You seem upset." Damn those Gramarye eyes. You really can't hide anything from them. He tries to anyway, smirking lopsidedly. "Nah, just think the guy looks like a tool." She won't buy it. He knows it, and he knows she knows he knows it. But she has the tact not to pry, and that's enough for him.

"I see..." She doesn't pry. It's a bit disappointing. It _is_ relieving, like he anticipated, since he doesn't have to explain. And yet he kinds wishes she would show some interest, curiosity, maybe a touch of jealousy, as selfish as that is. He just wishes she'd show some sign that they aren't just good friends who screw.

But they are, aren't they? It's not her fault he's still that dopey, smiling romantic from the old picture on the inside. Deep, deep inside. Like, thousands and thousands of leagues inside. God, he was an idiot back then.

"Is that you?" She peers over at the picture and he winces. He really didn't want her to see him that way.

"Yeeeah, unflattering look on me, huh?"

"Oh, undoubtedly." Harsh, Lassa. But he knows she's only teasing. It's one of the things that he couldn't do with Iris, she was too sweet and nice to understand his newfound dark humor.

"We all got our bad pics."

"But rarely that awful."

"You're a performer. You're always airbrushed."

She raises a brow at him and he laughs, shrugging. As if she'd need it, she gorgeous. He won't tell her that, of course. She was used as a sexual item even before her husbands, as a scantily clad way to entice audiences. He knows she won't appreciate it if he compliments her beauty. It's a shame, it's something he always liked to do when he was dating 'Dollie'.

He's not dating Thalassa, he reminds himself. And she wouldn't appreciate it if she knew he was claiming her without her permission like that, even if it's only in his thoughts.

She leans her head on his shoulder, just a bit. She's tall enough to do that, he muses. Tall woman, could be a model really, only a couple inches shorter than him. How the hell did Apollo come out so tiny?

She isn't the type to be so mushy and cuddly, so he knows this is her quiet way of comforting him without forcing him to admit something's wrong. He decides to take a chance and covers her hand with his, squeezing gently.

He gets lucky and she intertwines her fingers with his.

"Are you hungry?"

He hadn't noticed, but now that he thought about it, he was a bit. Especially if it was for her cooking, woman was a regular pro. He wants to ask sometimes where she learned, but he's too worried that it's a bad memory, perhaps something one of her husbands forced on her, and the last thing he wants is for her to retreat from him.

"Starved."

She pats his hand and stands, shutting the bedroom door behind her quietly as she goes.

Phoenix sighs and tucks the picture and invitation away in a drawer. He doesn't want to think about it right now. He isn't even sure he'll go. He'd probably just make an ass of himself. It's a hard thing to put out of mind though.

Wine would help. They have some cooking sherry, don't they? Damn, but Lassa's here. Even if she wasn't, she'd still find out. He mutters under his breath, shoving his hands into his hoodie's pockets grumpily as he goes out to see what Lassa's preparing. He hopes it has chicken in it.

* * *

"Pearls has a total crush on you." Trucy giggles as Apollo drives them all home from the train station.

"Watcheeng eet, Yoostis. She eez only 15." Machi snickers, baiting Apollo.

"HEY! I'VE HARDLY SAID TWO WORDS TO THE GIRL!" Apollo protests far too loudly. Damn those Chords of Steel.

"'kay, take it down to a six, rook." He knows it's just a schoolgirl crush on Pearl's behalf, nothing will come of it, but just like with Maya and Edgeworth, Phoenix can't help that irrational part of him that's offput by this information. Even the children are hooking up and settling down. And here he is, with three adoptive kids he can barely keep up with, and not even an ex-wife to show for it.

He supposes he'd be okay with just the kids, if they weren't growing up so fast. Hell, they all came to him partially grown, or entirely grown in Apollo's case. The rook's already got his own place and only really comes around for work. Trucy and Machi are ridiculously talented, they'll be eighteen and off to some fine college in no time.

What will he do then? He won't have anyone to stick around for, no career to keep him busy, and hell if he wants to go back to drinking himself to sleep every night.

When they get inside, he hurries back into his room and pulls open his drawer. He was hoping he'd dreamed the whole thing, but there it is. The invitation to Iris' wedding. It's still there and she's still lovely.

"He still looks like a tool, though." Phoenix mumbles to himself petulantly, slamming the drawer shut.

He wants to call Thalassa, if only to make some excuse to invite her over. He could use Pearl's crush on Apollo, tell Thalassa her boy has a potential girlfriend. It's low, but he really just wants an adult to talk to. He can't exactly let the kids see him like this, they depend on him.

He gets her voicemail and remembers she gone off somewhere again. Was it on tour as Lamiroir, or just to get away this time? He can't remember, but it's not like the reason matters. She has her own life, and he's only a part of the periphery.

There's always that cooking sherry?

No, he's not going to go there. Almost half a year sober and counting, he's not going to ruin that now. The kids need him, at least for now. And his liver probably wouldn't appreciate it either.

He picks himself up and goes to find Apollo to tease some more. Maybe he can help the rook on a case while he's at it, drop some cryptic hints that'll really drive him crazy. It's a harmless activity, and it's a distraction at least.

* * *

God help him, he goes to the wedding. Iris looks stunning, of course, and her new husband is better built in real life. Phoenix knows he's had more champagne than he really should have, but even tipsy as he is he knows better than to pick a fight with a guy like that.

Tch, like he'd pick a fight with anyone. He's such a wuss. He takes a few more glasses of champagne off the waiter's tray and downs them. He really should slow down, stop entirely, really. But when she's sharing her first dance with that guy, she looks so brain-meltingly happy, and he leans down to whisper some sweet nothing in her ear, he just wants to puke. Why is he even here? He must enjoy torture. Friggin' masochist.

She finally does try to approach him once things are well under way. He's a mess and he knows it, so he tries not to say much. He just smiles too widely and compliments her. Or he tries to compliment her, he's not sure what exactly comes out of his mouth but it makes her blush. Her husband comes over, wrapping a protective arm around her waist.

Phoenix shrugs, wishing them well, picks up a whole bottle of champagne off a tray, and stumbles out. He didn't want to stick around anyway. It was a boring ceremony and the music sucked.

It's lucky he doesn't have a license, so he's forced to take the bus home. People shy away from the strange man who manages to look like utter crap even in a formal suit.

When he gets home, Machi looks horrified. Trucy just looks at him sadly. He's always tried to keep this side of him hidden from her, but she's a smart girl. She knows. She ushers Machi to the next room, and calls Apollo out of the office.

Phoenix's vision is swimming, so he can't make out the rook's expression. To his credit, he doesn't do his usual panic and just leads Phoenix to his room, telling him to sleep it off as he shuts the door.

Phoenix makes a snappy comeback, but it comes out only after Apollo's gone. Ah well, he doesn't even remember it anymore. He collapses on his bed, vowing to never waste his time with stupid boring weddings again. They only make his chest feel like it's caved in.

* * *

In the morning he wakes up to the sound of someone clearing their throat disapprovingly. He opens his eyes, wincing at the pounding in his head, and sees Thalassa standing over him, looking every bit the part of a displeased mother. Damn, one of the kids must have gotten scared and called her. His money's on Machi. That kid acts tough as nails, but he's really just Thalassa's fluffy little lap dog.

"Oh... hey Lassa." He smirks lopsidedly.

"Such a shame. And here I was planning a surprise for when you hit six months."

Phoenix groans, he really doesn't want to hear it right now, especially not from her of all people. He grabs a pillow and covers his face with it.

"Fine. Behave like a child. I suppose I'll have to stay to watch the children then, all four of you." He doesn't hear her leave, she's so graceful that her footfalls are almost silent. He's pretty sure she's gone, though.

Phoenix sighs heavily. She has no right to judge him. They're not even exclusive, right? She goes off on her tours and hooks up with whatever backstage fan, hotel clerk, and flight attendant she wants, right? It's not her friggin' business what he does at his ex girlfriend's wedding.

"Bitsh." His curse is muffled by the pillow over his head.

Her reply, however, is not. "You wouldn't be the first to think so."

He winces, this time for a different reason entirely. Ah, hell. Now she's going to be all distant with him for who knows how long.

He didn't want to offend her. She isn't just some attractive friend he hooks up with, even if that's all he is to her. The last thing he wants is to be one of those men, those bastards from her past. He's doing a great job of smoothing out whatever they have, isn't he?

Phoenix swallows, turning onto his side to show her his back, keeping his face covered by the pillow, head still pounding painfully. How can she think she's the lost cause here? He's the one who can't get anything right.

* * *

He sleeps off the migraine and doesn't get out of bed until that evening.

She's sitting on the sofa, reading a book. He's still a little too dizzy to make out the title, not that he really cares. He hangs his head and walks in contritely. She doesn't look up, refusing to encourage him.

"Sup."

"Mmm."

So she isn't going to let this one go. Greeeat. He sighs, scratching the back of his head. Ew, he's still in his suit from yesterday. No wonder he feels so stiff. Ah, screw it, he already feels like scum.

"Look... I'm sorry. I acted like a total asshole." He realizes belatedly that using a curse might detract from the sincerity of his apology.

She closes her book, setting it in her lap as she turns to face him. "It's not me you should be apologizing to. You gave Apollo quite the scare."

So it was the rook that called her? That's weird, he isn't especially close to his mom. What a rat! Phoenix knew Trucy was his favorite for a reason!

"Yeah. Sorry about that too." He plops down on the couch. She shifts, and he thinks she's sliding away. He wouldn't blame her. He probably reeks of stale booze and sweat.

He's surprised when she actually moves closer instead and wraps her arms around his waist, leaning against his arm.

"Are you alright?"

He chuckles at himself, humorlessly. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Like a book." She says, showing him the book in her lap for emphasis. Now he really does chuckle with a little humor in it.

"Did you just make a pun? That's one for the _record books_." There's that banter of theirs. He really does enjoy it.

He wants to say he's fine. but he knows if he does she won't ask again, so if he wants to get something off his chest he better damn well do it now instead of playing hard to get.

"My ex got married yesterday. I thought I was over her. I mean, I guess I am. Have been for a while. I think. I thought. I dunno. It just hurt." It's a huge confession for him, he hates letting his guard down like this, letting himself be so vulnerable. He remembers the consequences that had last time.

She nods, needing no explanation, and just holds him. He's grateful. So, so grateful.

"And now," he sighs, "to top it all off, I won't even be getting this six month surprise you mentioned."

"Ah, trying the pathetic woe-is-me attempt."

"Hey, it was worth a shot."

She pecks his cheek, and it feels good. Better than such a simple action really should. God, is he so desperate?

"Careful, you'll catch the drunken hobo off of me."

"I'll take my chances."

She stays with him for a little while longer, until he doesn't feel quite so miserable anymore, before she moves away. He grabs her hand to bring her back, but she gives him a questioning look and he remembers himself, releasing her.

"Go take a shower."

"Now?"

"Wash your hair this time."

"Dun wanna."

She doesn't lose her patience. She just stays serene, like she always is, and smiles confidently. "Really Phoenix, this is no way to convince me to reconsider giving you the surprise anyway."

He hops up and books it for the shower.

* * *

When he finishes his shower-feeling far more refreshed and hydrated-he gets out in only a towel. He means to head for his room, but she meets him on the way and grabs him, pushing him against the hallway wall, capturing his lips.

He's stunned, this is so unlike her. He opens his mouth to ask if something's wrong, but she uses that opportunity to deepen the kiss. His head is spinning and he finds himself responding out of pure instinct.

His tongue surges against hers, hot and heavy, and yet still seeking approval. He never knows when something will spook her. He's shocked when she tangles one hand in his hair savagely, angling his head to gain better access. What in the world has gotten into her?

Her free hand skims his chest, gliding lower and lower. When her hands tug at the towel wrapped around his waist he starts, jumping out of the kiss, looking at her with puzzled and frightened eyes.

"Lassa..." he pants, already out of breath. "What about the kids?"

"I sent them to Apollo's apartment for the evening. They think I'm reprimanding you."

"Oh."

That concern out of the way, she pulls him back to her and continues ravishing his mouth. She makes a small sound of satisfaction, the kind he's never heard from her before, and it's enough to get his pulse thundering in his ears.

Is this his surprise, he wonders? Or is she using this as a distraction for her own pain?

Oh god, he'd automatically assumed she came here for him. What if she's the one who needs someone right now?

He loathes to break this kiss, he really does. He needs her so, so badly right now, and he's never felt her wanting it like this before, but he has to make sure she's okay. He won't let her hurt herself, won't let himself be a participant in using her body.

"L-Lassa." He grabs her shoulders gently and pulls her back. She hums, visibly annoyed, at least as much as Thalassa will show. He swallows, his throat parched. "Not that I mind, but... what brought on this?"

"I came to break it off."

His first thought is that she's joking, just their usual dry humor. But she doesn't smile, she doesn't have that teasing shine to her eyes. She serious. Dead serious.

Just like that, it's over? He doesn't even know what he did! Did she find someone else?

He's shaking now, partially from anger and partially because he can't bear to see her go. It isn't just that he's desperate, he wants _her_. He wants her and their banter, her dry humor, the way she always knows just what to make for him despite his picky tastes, how she sings to herself in the mornings, how curvaceous her hips are indicating a real woman's body, how she always keeps calm when he gets melodramatic, or the way she can see right through all his bullshit. Isn't he worth anything to her?

"What the hell then, is this just a pity fu-?"

"No."

"Then why!"

"Because I don't want to trap you!" It's so rare that she raises her voice, he can't even remember the last time he heard her do it.

"Lassa..." he softens, releasing his grip and just running his hands up and down her arms. "I don't get it. Trap me how?"

"I'm not blind. Even when I was, such a thing would be all too obvious..."

"What do you-?"

"You want more than this." She looks away, blushing-another rarity for her-in humiliation. "You deserve more than this."

And it suddenly dawns on him just why she even bothered to ask about that picture in his hand. Even then, she could see the woman in that picture wasn't just a long lost acquaintance.

"Lassa..." he says softly, bringing a hand to cup her cheek. How can someone so wonderful have such a low sense of worth?

"I can't give you more. It will never be me in that picture, dressed in white beside you."

He sighs, and the question that's lingered in his mind all this time is finally answered. No matter how long he waits, how slow he goes with her, she will never budge. She's had her fill of husbands and restraints. She has her freedom now. She isn't going to give it up, even if he loves her.

But, even as it pains him to learn this, he suddenly realizes that it doesn't change a thing.

"Would you want to stay anyway?"

She raises her head to face him, her usually serene and guarded expression now openly puzzled.

"For what? You can hardly pursue your own happiness if you're busy playing house with me."

"Yeah, living with a loud-voiced, consistently flustered attorney, a charming wannabe magician who pulls worlds out of her panties, a snarky musical prodigy with an nearly unintelligible accent, and an intriguingly mysterious siren sounds _so_ domestic."

"Phoenix..." She doesn't banter back. "I'm serious."

"I am too. Listen." He meets her gaze, unblinking. Gramarye eyes are piercing, but he's lived with Trucy long enough to develop enough of a resistance to stare them down. "The way I see things, it's between givin' up on the sorta relationship I've wanted all my life, or givin' up on you."

Her guarded expression returns, preparing for the blow.

"And you win every time."

Silence as his words sink in. Then without warning she slams him back against the wall, whispering heatedly into his ear.

"If I have to stare at you standing there, damp and shirtless for one minute more, I swear I will go mad."

She doesn't have to tell him twice.

She falls onto the bed and he follows, the mattress bouncing beneath them. He smirks, amused, and she rolls her eyes at him. What? It's not like he's actually going to jump on the bed _now_. Even if it does sound like fun, he has his hands full at the moment! Even his priorities aren't that screwed up.

He dips his head to kiss her slowly, not demanding anything just yet. He props himself up on his forearms and knees, careful not to smother her. He knows her emotional state is fragile. He has to go slow.

His kiss is slow, exasperatingly slow, and he carries on this way for a few minutes before he barely skims his fingertips over her collar bone, seeking permission. He ghosts his hands a over her, a little lower, inching towards her breast. But not yet, give her time, not yet...

"Oh for the love of-!" She kicks his thighs, sweeping them out from under him, and drops him on top over her. She takes advantage of his position to wrap her legs around his waist before he even knows what just happened.

"Buh?" He says smartly.

Her legs push at the towel he's wearing, succeeding in dropping it. He blushes, swallowing. "I already told you." She pants, oh geez, he's never seen her lose it like this and it's doing things to him, making his blood run hot and sending chills up his spine. "Don't keep me waiting, you're driving me mad."

He's still wary, but if that's what she wants...

He covers her body with his, seeking out her hand to hold, and lets himself kiss her vigorously. He's trembling with want, tense and desperate with need, but he keeps himself in check. He doesn't want to hurt her. He has to wait...

She wraps her free arm around his neck, tugging him down so she can kiss the shell of his ear, nipping at it as she whispers between breaths, "Phoenix, _more_."

He nearly loses it and grabs her hips, bucking against her. No, wait. He has to wait. It's not fair! Why is she doing this to him?

"Lassa..." he swallows, but it doesn't alleviate the dryness in his throat at all. "I know I'm your favorite, but is this really a good idea?"

She stills, pushing at his chest to look him in the face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you know..." Oh god, is he wrong? "Unless... there's someone else above me. W-which is your business and I really shouldn't be making assumptions about your personal-"

"Phoenix." She pecks him, shutting him up. "There is no one else."

It's like a punch in the gut and a passionate kiss all at once. "WHAT?"

"Phoenix, down to a three, please."

"But I-you-we agreed we weren't exclusive and you-"

"I know." She brushes his hair back affectionately, apologetically. "I let you believe there were others because it kept you at arm's length. I... I-I was scared."

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to cool down enough so that the urge to just get it on won't drown out his judgment. That was a huge confession on her part, and the last thing he wants to do now is accidentally hurt her when she's bared herself to him like this.

"Okay." He says, kissing her forehead, behind the bangs, where the scar left from the bullet that stole away her memories hides. It's an extremely intimate gesture, he knows how ashamed she is of that mark, but it couldn't bother him less. He's much more concerned with this newest piece of information.

So there was never anyone else, huh?

He has to bite his cheek to keep himself from smirking. Now isn't the time to be a proud jerk. Instead he fumbles with her clothing, "You kinda have an unfair advantage here."

She agrees and immediately sets to helping him with this task.

Even with the blood rushing away from his brain to a lower area, they're able to even the score in moments. He closes the space between them and the contact of skin against skin is like electricity thrumming through his nerve endings. He caresses her stomach, massaging small circles into her. She scoffs in protest, and he knows why. Thin, smooth little marks, leftovers from her pregnancies.

"Don't look at them." She pleads.

"Lassa, seriously?" She chuckles, kissing her again. "If we're this far, you've got the job. You don't have to worry about it." She looks away, her cheeks flushing in shame, and he lowers his voice to a randy growl. "Besides, they're kinda sexy. Like tattoos, but not as trashy."

She turns back and scoffs, glaring daggers at him. The lady in her is grossly offended by such a comparison!

"Hahaha. Okay, okay. If looks could kill, sheeeesh-"

"No more talking."

Well. He doesn't have to be told twice.

Or, well, that was the second time. Not three times though. Really. Contrary to his idiocy thus far, he actually would like to get laid tonight.

He enters her slowly, caaaarefully. She whimpers and he freezes. _Shit._ Too soon, dammit, he should've known better. He starts to ease up, but she tightens around him.

"Don't stop."

_Yes ma'am._

He shuts his eyes, concentrating. He needs to find the right angle, figure out just what does it for her. He listens intently to her soft little whimpers and gasps, and he declares victory when she can't hold back a moan.

"Ah-!"

Wait, good or bad sound?

"Lassa?"

"Stop now and I really am leaving."

That answers that question. Who knew Thalassa could be such a demanding diva when she's turned on?

It stings that they've been going at it for almost six months now and he didn't know that. Oh Thalassa, had she been enduring it only for his sake all this time?

He kisses her, slowing his movements, and she makes a frustrated little sound.

"Will you please stop teasing me?"

"Will you stop lying to me?"

She opens her eyes to look at him. He's through playing games. If this is coming out tonight, then it's all coming out.

"What...?"

"You've been faking, haven't you? Dammit, Thalassa, don't you know how much of a selfish creep that makes me feel like?"

"Phoenix..."

"I'm not LIKE those other men! I don't WANT to be like them! You're not just a body to be used!"

"Phoenix..."

"I respect you immensely, and in case you haven't noticed, I happen to care about you deeply. I don't care what your intentions are, don't turn me into this, Thalass-"

"Phoenix!" She grabs his face, staring him right in the eye. "Please... you're really killing my mood. Here I have this handsome man in bed with me, and he's making it sound like a tragedy. Can we argue this later?"

Clever woman.

He humphs childishly in that 'fine-I-will-but-I-won't-like-it' way. It's a bluff of course. He knows it and he knows she knows he knows it.

He proves it when he loses himself in her right after.

And when he comes apart above her, her cries join his, harmonizing in a way that's discordantly beautiful.

He pulls her to him after wards, holding her, filled with so much adoration he thinks his heart may burst right out of his chest. He catches his own thoughts and is glad she's not a mind-reader. He can be such a cheeseball sometimes.

She kisses his throat. The sensation is delicious and he rubs her back in appreciation.

"Phoenix?" She calls him just as he's drifting off.

"Whazzat?"

"I'm pregnant."

He almost flies out of his own skin. "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"

She giggles, she actually giggles. "No, not really. Though we should look into... protection. I may be old, but I haven't gone through that change yet."

He wants to object to her calling herself old, but his brain is still out to lunch after that scare. "W-why would you...?"

"As I said, I told the children I was here to reprimand you." She cuddles into his chest, and he quickly remembers why it's so hard to be mad at a girl when she's _touching_ you. "Consider yourself punished."

He snorts, he's not going to get any sleep now. "You're one to talk, Ms Natural tattoos."

She pinches him for that, hard.

He doesn't tell her he kinda likes it and just silently considers himself the winner.

* * *

It's different in the morning. He knows it, and she knows it, and they both know the other knows it. It's obvious as they dress, the glances they keep stealing one another, the way she comes over to fix his tie for him ("Really now, it wouldn't hurt for you to dress a little decently on occasion."), the way he rests his hands on her hips and she doesn't move away.

Something's changed, though neither of them dares speak it. There's a constancy now, a promise for something more substantial, more permanent. They won't discuss it, now isn't the time for such things. It's still new and frightening. But at least now he knows there's no one else for her, and as for him, well... he doesn't want anyone else. Not ever.

They move to the living room, she to finish her book and he to veg out in front of the television with Saturday morning cartoons. He lays down, lounging lazily, and she lets him place his head in her lap, scratching gentle patterns into his scalp.

He's quietly content. To hell with rings and wedding dresses. It's all nice, but if he can have this feeling right now, this simple intimacy, then he really doesn't need all that pomp and circumstance.

The kids come home and he sits up, distancing himself. She makes herself appear engrossed in her book. Trucy bounds in, jabbering on about how fun the sleepover at Apollo's was. Machi's view is less positive. Sleeping bags are not fun, he quips.

Apollo just rubs his temples and asks if they can have breakfast yet. His blood sugar's completely drained from dealing with those two.

Thalassa stands and heads for the kitchen. He waits thirty seconds, so it's not suspicious, before he follows her.

He has her quite comfortably sandwiched between himself and the refridgerator, leaning his forehead against hers, when Trucy walks in. They spring apart, but Trucy makes no comment. She walks between them, grabs some plates to set the table, and walks right back out.

"What took so long?"

"Sorry, mom and daddy were making out in the kitchen and they got in my way."

His cheeks burn. Busted!

"Vhat, again?" Machi says, mildly irritated. "Zhat cannot being sanitary."

Again! He looks at Thalassa, who stares back, just as shocked as he.

"WHAT! What do you mean making out? AGAIN?"

"Geez, Polly. They've been hooking up for months, didn't you know?"

"Ya, you need be blind not notice."

"Ack! G-guess I've been distracted."

"Mmm, should stop zhinking of leetle gurl Pearl all zhe time."

"Ugh, Polly! She's my age!"

"I BARELY KNOW THE GIRL!"

And just like that they're off on another topic, as if discovering their parents together in the kitchen was as predictable as rain. Well, that simplifies that, now doesn't it? Thalassa goes back to her cooking and he goes back to standing there wishing he had something to distract himself with.

"I guess that's one less awkward conversation we'll be having with them, huh?" He smiles, trying to alleviate the tension in the air.

"So it seems. Though you'll still be giving Machi 'the talk', I hope you know."

"Huh!"

"And he's shown no interest in girls thus far, and a suspicious taste for all the same pop singers Trucy adores. So that will be an interesting direction."

"Noooo no no no no."

"Oh you'll say yes."

"Never."

"Grilled chicken breast with hashbrowns for you?"

"...dammit. Yes."

* * *

Apollo leaves to investigate his current case. Trucy tags along, as per usual. Machi confines himself to the piano to do whatever it is genius musical prodigies do with pianos. Compose, he guesses.

He corners Thalassa in the bathroom as she's fixing her hair.

"So..." he smirks, hugging her from behind. "Was last night my six-month surprise?"

"No." She puts on her hair clasps, catching his eyes in the mirror. "That was you being a hot, drunken mess, and then coming out of the shower bare-chested."

"Huh? So... you got all hot an bothered because I was at my lowest and then I cleaned up my act?"

She smiles serenely. "I'm a performer, as you said. I suppose I have an affinity for drugs, sex, rock n' roll, and then rehab."

"Huh. Duly noted." He knows she's just joking, but a joke is still a subtle deflection. She doesn't want to tell him what it was that set her off, not just yet. It's alright. He'll be patient. Or he'll try to, anyway. "So you going out?"

"I have a lunch date with Mr. Gavin."

He scowls. Forget the usual jealousy, but _him_ of all people?

She turns in his arms to hug him and he sighs, trying to let it go. "He's my friend, Phoenix. I know he's not your favorite person in the world, but I do not have many to choose from..."

He sighs and releases her. He can't begrudge her that, he guesses. Still, stupid sexy Gavin better keep his ruggedly good looks, ridiculously catchy music, and woman-wooing accent (which he still believed was fake!) away from his Lassa. Wasn't taking his badge enough?

She heads for the front door and he follows her out, fidgeting nervously. "Wait, um," he flails for an excuse to delay her for just a second longer, "what about my six-month surprise then?"

She brings a finger to her chin pensively, the gesture reminding him endearingly of Trucy. Finally she seems to reach a conclusion and smiles slightly at him.

"You'll just have to wait a few months for it."

"Awww, no. Lassaaaa. C'mon!"

She pats his cheek sympathetically and disappears out the door.

Phoenix groans as he shuts the door. Dammit, that's one thing about commitment he hadn't remembered. When you're with a woman as amazing as that, she has you by the _balls_.


	3. Middle Ground

**In and Out**

* * *

**Epilogue: Middle Ground  
**

It's a quaint little cafe, and the weather is pleasant enough to dine outdoors. She sips at her glass of juice, a bit remorseful that she can't have her usual cup of cappuccino at the moment, but the day is just too nice to dwell on it. Sun bright and warm, not a cloud in the sky, simply gorgeous.

Her companion taps a finger against the table, drumming out a beat. He can't seem to sit still. He reminds her of Phoenix in that way; always fidgeting.

"You didn't tell him."

She smiles behind her glass. "No."

"Nein, Frau? And when do you plan on unveiling your masterpiece? You can't leave him in a cadenza forever."

She sets down her glass, holding it in two hands, enjoying the coolness of it in contrast to the summer's day.

"In a few months he'll have to notice, even if I say nothing at all."

"Hmm. So you're staying with him, ja? And what brought on this _wandel des herzens_?"

"I wouldn't call it a change of heart at all, Mr. Gavin." She brings a hand over the belly and the swell that's barely beginning to show. "More a change of perspective."

"ACHTUNG! When the feelings are strong, even the most difficult kinks can be smoothed out. Why, just ask my hair. We have quite the quarrels at times, but we always work it out in the end. Of course, I take it you will be naming him Klavier the second?"

Thalassa laughs, she's surprised with how easily it comes to her. What has gotten into her today?

"I do think he would detest that. With every fiber of his being."

* * *

Please Review if you have a moment.


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